What is now known by the sorrel and the roan?By the chestnut, and the bay, and the gelding grey?It is: stay by the gate you are given.And remain in your place, for your season.And had the overfed dead but listenedto the high-fence, horse-sense, wisdom…

“Did you hear that, bear?” saidmonkey, “we’ll get out of here, fair and squarethey left the gate open wide!

“So, my bride.

“Here is my hand. Where is your paw?Try and understand my plan, Ursala.My heart is a furnacefull of love that's just, and earnest.Now.You know that we must unlearn thisallegiance to a life of service,and no longer answer to that heartlesshay-monger, nor be his accomplice —(the charlatan, with artless hustling!)But Ursala, we’ve got to eat something,and earn our keep, while still withinthe borders of the land that man has girded,(all double-bolted and tightfisted!),until we reach the open country,a-steeped in milk and honey.Will you keep your fancy clothes on, for me?Can you bear a little longer to wear that leash?

“My love, I swear by the air I breathe:Sooner or later, you’ll bare your teeth.

“But for now, just dance, darling.C’mon, will you dance, my darling?Darling, there’s a place for us;can we go, before I turn to dust?My darling there’s a place for us.

“Darling. C’mon will you dance,My darling?The hills are groaning with excess,like a table ceaselessly being set.My darling we will get there yet.”

They trooped past the guards,past the coops, and the fields, and thefarmyards, all night, till finally,

the space they gainedgrew much farther thanthe stone that bear threw,to mark where they’d stop for tea.

But still,they have got to pay the bills.Hadn’t they?That is what the monkey'd say.So, with the courage of a clown, or a cur,or a kite, jerking tight at its tether,in her dun-brown gown of fur,and her jerkin ofswansdown and leather,Bear would sway on her hind legs;the organ would grind dregs of song,for the pleasureof the children who’d shriek,throwing coins at her feet,then recoiling in terror.

Sing, “dance, darling.C’mon, will you dance, my darling?Darling, there’s a place for us;can we go, before I turn to dust?My darling there’s a place for us.

Deep in the nightshone a weak and miserly light,where the monkey shouldered his lamp.Someone had told him thebear’d been wandering a fair piece awayfrom where they were camped.Someone had told himthe bear had been sneaking away,to the seaside caverns, to bathe;and the thought troubled the monkey,for he was afraid of spelunkingdown in those caves.Also afraid what thevillage people would say,if they saw the bear in that state —lolling and splashing obscenelywell, it seemed irrational, really,washing that face;washing that matted and flea-bit peltin some sea-spit-shine —old kelp dripping with brine.But monkey just laughed, and he muttered,“When she comes back, Ursala will be bursting with pride —till I jump up!Saying, ‘You’ve been rolling in muck!Saying, ‘You smell of garbage and grime!’”

First the outside-legs of the bearup and fell down, in the water, like knobby garters,Then the outside-arms of the bearfell off, as easy as if sloughedfrom boiled tomatoes.Low’red in a genteel curtsy,bear shed the mantle of herdiluvian shoulders;and, with a sigh,she allowed the burden of belly to drop,like an apronfull of boulders.

If you could hold up herthreadbare coat to the light,where it’s worn translucent in places,you’d see spots where,almost every night of the year,Bear had been mending,suspending that baseness.

Now her coat drags through the water,bagging, with a life’s-worth of hunger,limitless minnows;

in the magnetic embrace,balletic and glacial,of bear’s insatiable shadow —

Left there!Left there!When bearLeft bear;

Left there,Left there,When bearstepped clear of bear.

(Sooner or later you'll bury your teeth)

Notes

A fable about exploitation and a creation story for one of the Ursa constellations.